


A Great Opportunity, Indeed

by ishougen



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Hair Pulling, Kinkmeme, M/M, Size Kink, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 18:42:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2662394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishougen/pseuds/ishougen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oswald supposed he should’ve seen this coming, no pun intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Great Opportunity, Indeed

**Author's Note:**

> Hey look another Gotham kinkmeme thing ahaha what a great way to procrastinate T_T The prompt this time was: "Basically I just want to see Oswald being forced to give someone a blow job, with his assailant(s) grabbing him by the hair through the whole thing. I don't really care who or why as long as it's violent and Oswald is decidedly not into it. IDK, it could be dirty cops making him buy his way out of an arrest, revenge ordered by Fish Mooney, one of Falcone's or Maroni's thugs punishing him for real or perceived disloyalty, whatever." Being a sucker for Maroniwald, I went in that direction.

Oswald supposed he should’ve seen this coming, no pun intended. Most people involved in organized crime expected it at one point or another; depending on your position on the ladder of authority, you would either give or receive. There was no way out of it.

 Still, when Don Maroni clapped a hand on his thigh and leered at him with those too-white teeth of his, Oswald hadn’t been able to suppress a shudder. He was used to this, but something about the glint in Maroni’s eye had promised that he was in for more than he could handle.

 Sure enough, after the casino job was finished, Maroni “invited” Oswald back to his place to celebrate. It was really more of an order: Maroni had pressed a hand to Oswald’s upper arm in a display of friendship, but his thumb had pressed into the muscle and bone just so, precisely where he’d left a bruise earlier that day. Despite the pain radiating through his shoulder, Oswald had smiled and shuffled along after the Don, taking his place in the backseat of a sleek, black car and waiting for the inevitable.

 Somewhat surprisingly, Maroni doesn’t try anything on the ride over. He’s an impulsive man, but by now Oswald understands that he has some amount of patience – either that, or he just doesn’t want the driver to see them. Even if everyone expects it, it’s not always a good idea to go around getting handsy with your employees in front of people. In Gotham, people talk about everything, and sooner or later the gossip catches up to you. No, better to be discreet.

 They pull up to a large condominium and Maroni guides him inside, waving off the security guard at the front desk. They take the elevator up and Oswald does his best not to fidget, but he can feel Maroni’s eyes boring holes into him now that they’re alone. The elevator takes them to the penthouse, and though Oswald can tell this isn’t where Maroni lives full-time – never bring your work home with you – it’s still gorgeously decorated, all smooth walls and imported rugs, paintings of Italy hanging on the walls, portraits of past Don Maronis adorning the furniture.

 Beside him, Maroni chuckles, and Oswald is brought out of his reverie. “Not many people get to see this place,” he says, his voice heavy and warm, his eyes still latched onto Oswald.

  _Only the ones you fuck_ , Oswald thinks, but he smiles and says, “I’m honoured you’ve brought me here, Don Maroni.”

 Maroni is silent for a moment, his own smile enigmatic as he looks down at Oswald. He looks like a lion, hungry but not starving, able to savour the meal laid out in front of him. Then, without warning, he reaches out to cup Oswald’s cheek. The movement is not shy or tender; it’s possessive, the touch of a man who’s measuring the quality of a piece of meat.

 “In the bedroom,” he says, and Oswald nods, not needing further explanation. He can feel his body tensing as he follows Maroni down the hall. It’s not as though he’s never done this before – despite what his mother thinks, he’s far from a blushing virgin. But Maroni is huge, gigantic in a way that Oswald isn’t used to, bigger even than Butch, and he isn’t entirely sure how much he can handle.

 The bedroom is luxurious, even nicer than the rest of the penthouse, and the bed is large and plush. Oswald can imagine himself getting lost in a bed like that, his skinny arms and too-thin legs buried beneath the blankets and pillows. A sense of claustrophobia closes in on him but then he feels Maroni’s hand on his face again and it brings him out of his thoughts.

 “You’re lucky your janitor friend came through,” he’s saying, his voice low, almost a murmur.  The room is dark, but the moon is shining through the window and it illuminates Maroni, brings out the glint in his eye even more strongly. Oswald can tell without a doubt that this man is ruthless, no matter how friendly or hospitable he might seem in the light of day.

 Oswald remains silent, not knowing yet what the Don wants from him, not knowing what will please and what will anger. There’s a sense of danger in the air and it makes Oswald want to run, but he’s caught in Maroni’s grip and he can’t escape.

 The larger man’s thumb trails itself across Oswald’s lip and his mouth parts slightly, warm air ghosting over the calloused skin. The hunger in Maroni’s expression is clearer than ever.

 “You’ve got the prettiest mouth, Oswald,” he murmurs. The words cause Oswald to shiver noticeably and Maroni laughs, his lips stretching back into a playful, malicious grin.

 Maroni pulls his hand away but then places it on Oswald’s shoulder, pushing him down, and the strength there frightens Oswald as he’s lowered to his knees. He can’t hold back a small sound of discomfort as his knee and ankle are forced to bend at an awkward ankle, pain flaring up in his bones, but the sound is apparently pleasing to Maroni, who laughs and pets at his hair.

 “Heard you got that for being a snitch,” he says, his thick palm dragging itself along Oswald’s cheek. Anger flares in Oswald’s stomach but he pushes it down, tries to smile, presses his face into Maroni’s touch.

 “I was foolish,” he admits. “But it taught me a valuable lesson.”

 “Oh?” Maroni raises his eyebrows, grinning more widely now. His expression makes fear crash through Oswald like a tidal wave.  “I’m not so sure about that. You seem to like getting hurt.”

 His fingers press against the spot on Oswald’s cheekbone where he’d smashed into the table earlier and Oswald hisses involuntarily. He tries to shrink back from the source of pain but Maroni’s free hand is on the back of his head, holding him in place as his thick fingers dig into the spot even harder. Oswald’s soft, pained mewls only make him laugh again.

 “I could’ve had my boys cut you up today, you know that?” There’s a certain air of satisfaction in Maroni’s voice now, as though a complicated plan had worked out perfectly. “I’m glad your detective friend came through. Be a shame to have to waste a face like this.”

 Oswald doesn’t know whether he should smile or grimace. He can usually hold his own in situations like this, give the other person every look and sigh and touch they want and still come out the victor, but Maroni’s strength is overwhelming and Oswald is so sore from earlier that he has no energy to fight against it.

 The hand on his cheek disappears at last, but the soreness lingers even after the touch is gone. On the back of his head Maroni’s fingers wind their way through his hair, and then suddenly his grip tightens and Oswald’s head is jerked back slightly, drawing a surprised sound from his throat.

 “Suck me off, Oswald.”

 The command is simple but it charges the air, makes Oswald’s body go rigid. He finds himself fumbling a little at first, his usually nimble fingers trembling from the pain and the expectation of more pain in the near future, but he manages to get Maroni’s pants undone quickly enough. The hand in his hair is a constant reminder of Maroni’s ability to hurt him if he doesn’t do a good job, but Oswald doesn’t know how he wants it, if he should take his time or just get it over with.

 When he pulls Maroni’s length out of his underwear the larger man sighs, and the sound is repeated when Oswald wraps his fingers around him. He’s huge, as expected, and he isn’t even fully erect yet. Oswald gives him a couple of strokes, testing, but a sharp tug on his hair tells him that Maroni is losing his patience quickly. So, leaning forward, Oswald begins to lick long, wet stripes up along Maroni’s cock, letting out soft, eager sounds. The taste isn’t bad, a little muskier than he likes, but it’s the size of it that worries him. His entire face still aches from the beating Maroni had given him earlier, and opening his mouth even a little wider than usual is difficult.

 But there are expectations he has to live up to, a man he has to please. So, gingerly, he parts his lips and slides his mouth over the length and girth of Maroni’s cock. He gets about halfway before the pain starts, the ache in his jaw making him cringe and back off instinctively.

 He doesn’t get very far, however, because the fingers in his hair tighten their grip suddenly and press forward, forcing him to take Maroni in as far as possible. The sudden motion makes Oswald choke, his body resisting the intrusion, but Maroni is too strong and his hands are too big and all Oswald can do is whimper around his cock as he struggles through the pain.

Maroni keeps him their for a good fifteen or twenty seconds before pulling him off. Oswald coughs weakly, reaching up to wipe at his mouth; when he glances upwards he can see that Maroni’s eyes have gone wide and dark, the hunger overtaking his expression completely. It’s as though he’s become another person entirely, an apex predator with only one goal – to devour everything in its path.

“You can do better than that,” he says, and his voice is rough and low, his accent stronger now. Oswald is about to say something, to protest, to beg for respite, but Maroni fucks himself back into his mouth, both hands now grabbing at Oswald’s hair. He cries out quietly, the sound muffled by the flesh in his mouth, as he feels the black strands being tugged from his scalp. 

Oswald tries to regulate his breathing, tries to find some sort of pace, but with Maroni limiting his movement there’s only so much he can do. He reaches up to brace his hands against the larger man’s broad hips, trying to gain some traction. In the back of his head he thinks of Maroni as a tree, as a statue, firm and rooted to the ground, unyielding and immovable.

Apparently Oswald isn’t doing a very good job, because Maroni grunts unhappily and reaches down to pinch Oswald’s lower jaw between his fingers, forcing him open as far as he can go. The ache in his jaw has transformed into full-fledged pain now, hot and searing, and as Maroni begins to move his hips forward Oswald feels tears leaking out of his eyes.

“Fuck, Oz,” Maroni grits out, staring down at Oswald as he pistons in and out of the man’s gaping mouth. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this – ” he’s cut off by a groan, and his fingers tug more insistently at Oswald’s hair, forcing him closer, forcing him to take it all.

Oswald’s throat is burning from the friction, and as hard as he tries he can’t get the muscles to relax, can’t take Maroni any deeper, and it hurts everywhere and he can’t breathe right and he’s never had his face fucked like this before, never been forced to take it like this, and without meaning to he lets out a weak sob. The sound makes Maroni slow his pace, but only for a moment; then, laughing, he speeds up again, choking Oswald with his cock.

The sounds filling the room are utterly obscene. The slick movements of Maroni’s length as it enters and exits Oswald’s mouth, the grunts and groans the mob boss is emitting, the weak, desperate sounds of Oswald’s resistance as he gags on the biggest cock he’s ever sucked – they echo through the room, their volume defeated only by the rushing of blood in Oswald’s ears, the pounding of his heart as his body is used and torn apart.

The pain is blinding now, and Oswald can feel his vision going dark around the edges. His hold on Maroni’s hips is weakening, and soon he’s held up more by the hand in his hair than anything else. Just as he thinks he’s going to pass out, however, Maroni suddenly retreats, leaving Oswald with his mouth gaping open, his breaths quick and wet-sounding as he tries to regain enough oxygen.

“Fuck,” Maroni is saying, his free hand going to his cock to pump himself rapidly, his other hand letting go of the back of Oswald’s scalp just to reach around and comb his fingers through the messy strands on the boy’s forehead, “Fuck, Oz, I’m gonna come all over your pretty little fucking face – ”

Maroni’s fingers tighten in his hair, forcing his head back, so that Oswald is staring up at him through a haze of tears. Then, with a shudder and a long, loud groan, almost a roar, he’s coming,  his seed coating Oswald’s face and lips and chin. Oswald’s jaw is locked open now, and as he tastes the come that lands on his tongue he can only do one thing: pray to God that Maroni doesn’t want to fuck him after this.

But it seems that the man is satiated, because once he’s finished branding Oswald he lets out a long, shuddering sigh, pats Oswald on the cheek, and takes three steps before collapsing onto the bed. A few minutes later Oswald hears snoring.

Oswald, meanwhile, hasn’t the strength to get up. His hip, knee and ankle are screaming in protest of being bent at this angle for so long, and he can barely close his mouth because any movement in his face makes him want to break down crying from the pain. He manages to drag himself to a nearby armchair, and he just barely manages to sit in it before finally succumbing. As he falls into unconsciousness, one last, flickering thought crosses his mind:

_Jim was right._


End file.
